


Tiebreak

by kres



Series: Series Four Daisy (Chain) [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kres/pseuds/kres
Summary: It had been a lot of work, binning those shirts.





	

"--which we know from the rain on Monday night, so if our supposition is correct, the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks, and you're not planning on dating again, why?" Sherlock stops pacing and frowns. "Oh. I still do that. Interesting." He looks at John. "Sorry." 

John, who is sitting in his favorite place in the world, wearing a casual jumper and jeans, and finishing his tea, and who has two days ago very carefully binned every shirt he had ever worn on a date with a woman other than Mary (he might have missed or added one or two, but he thinks Sherlock would understand memory impairments, considering)-- John looks at him and very carefully doesn't say anything. He allows a neutral expression. It had been a lot of work, binning those shirts. He won't let it be for nothing.

Sherlock considers him for some time. Then he breathes in. "It can be one of two-- no, one of three options. Option one: You are an overworked, tired single parent with a lingering depression, so you know you cannot in good faith invest in a romantic entanglement at this time. But since you also know yourself to be very easily overcome by temptation, you believe it will help you if you get rid of the means to an end. Bin it is. Option two: Being an overworked, tired single parent with a lingering depression, you do not believe yourself to be good enough dating material, and therefore you give up right out of the gate. You would still remove the means to an end, because now they remind you of someone you don't think you can be. Bin it is again. Option three: You have contracted--"

"Don't you think it's a little ironic?" says John. He can feel his hurt and anger, wrapped in a tight little ball inside his stomach, slowly burning-- and he lets them dissipate. He is not forgiving of Sherlock's trampling over people's emotions, not every time, and not with everyone - but he knew what he was doing when he got the ticket to ride.

Sherlock is frowning at him. "Ironic how? There's nothing ironic about sexually transmitted diseases."

John smiles. The shirts were totally worth it. "Yes, there is. There's loads, Sherlock. But that's not what I mean. What I mean is that it's ironic that people always _do_ stop at three."

Sherlock's frown lingers at the edges of his face for a moment, and then it disappears, and transforms into-- absolutely nothing at all.

It should be objectively terrifying, John notes, to be looked at like this by anyone. Like you don't exist, like you don't deserve to exist, as seen by Sherlock Holmes. Except John knows his eyes.

Sherlock breaks away. "No," he says to the place where the violin stand had been. "You can't-- Don't expect me to trust that part. That part's unreliable. I barely just got that part back, John, I don't know how to use it."

John sets his tea down and stands. He walks over to Sherlock - quickly, because he's only human, all right? - and steps close to him, but not uncomfortably so.

"You're thinking about the wrong part," he says, _very seriously_ , and Sherlock--

Sherlock snorts, and then laughs, and it's bloody amazing, to watch his face split into something so honest. John will never get enough of this. Rosie and Mrs. Hudson, Greg, very often, and, occasionally, like this: John making Sherlock laugh by just being himself.

Sherlock wipes one eye, and looks at John, properly this time. "Is that the part where you keep all your bad sex jokes?" he says. "Because I'm going to rewrite that part." And he steps, inescapably, closer.

John doesn't move. They're not touching, not yet, which is-- interesting, he thinks. He might want to-- experiment. With that. God, he's really turning into--

"One question," says Sherlock. "Before we begin." He glances down at John's mouth - John wets his lips, on reflex - and then back up, eyes solemn and curious. "How long were you going to wait?"

John-- honestly considers. Something romantic, something along the lines of 'as long as it took', or perhaps something witty, like 'till next Tuesday and then I was just planning to jump you', or else something--

"Shit," says John, and grins at Sherlock's grin that had been on his face - of course - just a shade earlier than his. "I haven't the faintest idea."


End file.
